His eyes are haunted.
“Pages, I’m fucking sorry,” he says breathlessly, his voice torn. Over me. “I never meant to hurt you. I love you. Let’s start over. What can I do to make it up to you?”
For a second, I just stand there, sad and conflicted and barely breathing before I answer.
“Will you jump into a pool of acid?”
Ha.
You know it’s a fantasy when it’s too perfect for real life.
The buzzer growls again, shattering my daydream.
Just in case itishim, I hide my depleted box of tissues on the table and scoop all the used ones into the trash.
No need for him to see I’ve been crying over him.
But when I answer the intercom, it’s not Ethan.
I knew it wouldn’t be, but my heart still sinks through the floor.
Mom shows up a second later after I let her in.
“Hi, Hattie,” she says in front of my door, holding a small white box. “I thought you might enjoy this.”
I peer through the plastic windowpane at the pie underneath.
…did I wake up in a mirror universe?
Because my health freak mother brought me blueberry pie.
Not an egg white quiche horror which might have a few blueberries baked into it with piles of spinach.
Not a blueberry smoothie that looks chalky brown from protein powder.
Not some low calorie ‘blueberry’ ice cream that’s actually just a lump of frozen coconut cream flavored with crushed blueberry skins.
An honest to God pie made with sugar.
“Mom, are you okay?” I croak, sounding as broken as I feel.
“Yes, dear. Can I come in?” she asks.
I step aside, waving her into my apartment with the offering.
She wrinkles her nose when she sees the place, and I sniff, wondering when I last showered.
No one at work hinted I smell, but I’m losing track of time.
Then again, no one at work has looked me dead in the eye since the news spread that Ethan and I broke up.
Devastating, really.
That’s what happens in a town as small as Portland with celebrities you can count on one hand.
A fake relationship turned into a very real breakup, and it’s already public.
No doubt the gossip accounts are tweeting all sorts of awful rumors.
